


How to Care For Your Mulder in Quarantine

by simpletumbleweedfarmer



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Let me out, Quarantine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fluff without a plot, i want out of my house :), mulder's going crazy in quarantine, please i can't take it, quarantine fic part twooooo, who wouldn't be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24174670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpletumbleweedfarmer/pseuds/simpletumbleweedfarmer
Summary: Scully and Mulder are quarantining together, and Mulder's starting to lose it.A series of scenes of mostly Mulder losing his mind while being trapped inside for eight weeks.(part 2 to my first quarantine fic, Level of Concern)
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	1. Quarantine Day...Sleeping Formula

**Author's Note:**

> I think I wrote Mulder to reflect my current mental state, lol. I am LOSING it in quarantine. I need out very badly and so some of this is based on me losing my mind. Also, I feel like because of this, I feel like I wrote Mulder a little off? IDK maybe we're both crazy. I feel like he inherited my anxiety in this. And yes, the title is based on the Jenna Marbles classic, "How to Care For Your Cermit."
> 
> Enjoy!

Scully knew Mulder was not having the best time in quarantine.

But every day he was becoming increasingly… _Mulder_.

“Done!” he signs the last paper with a flourish and throws the pen across the room.

Scully watches it as it bounces off the wall, and he looks over at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“What did you finish?”

“Work.”

“For the day?” Scully glances down at her watch, checking the time, and noting that it's only 3pm.

“No, like, I did everything I can do at home,” he tells her.

“Mulder. That’s impossible.”

He slides the stack of files across the table at her, and then leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Check it.”

She flips through the papers, occasionally glancing up at him.

“Well?” he asks impatiently after about two minutes of her reading, sitting up straighter and leaning on his knees. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy,” she teases, sliding the files back over at him. “You’re right though. You did get through the rest of the reports.”

“Ugghhhhhhhhhh,” he groans, leaning his head over the back of the chair. “I want to go back to work!”

“You’ll be back at work soon,“ she comforts, like she has been for the past eight weeks.

He’s like an anxious toddler in quarantine.

Really.

She’s started a list on a notepad that is literally entitled: “Things To Keep Mulder Busy.”

He’s never been the best at focusing if something wasn’t immediately interesting to him (AKA anything that wasn’t X-Files related), but his anxiety in quarantine had been…elevated.

That gave him an attention span of about ten minutes followed by long depressed stretches where he had no motivation to do anything.

It was a lot.

Scully once again thanked her lucky stars for insisting that that man quarantine with her, because she’d be even more worried about him if he was alone in that cramped apartment by himself.

“Want to watch a movie with me, Mulder?” she asks, making sure he’s not looking at her as she lifts the top page of the notepad that's sitting next to her to scratch off “movie” on the "Keep Mulder Busy" list.

“Sure.” He stands up, and she takes off her glasses, setting them down on the table, before standing up and walking over to the couch.

She sits at the end, expecting him to sit beside her, but instead he flops down, sprawled out on the length of the couch.

She glances over at him, slightly confused as he puts his head in her lap, draping his arm off the side of the couch.

Sure, they’d been cuddling…a little bit.

Okay, they’d been cuddling a lot.

Some of it was because Mulder felt the need to be physically pressed against her at all times, but it wasn't like Scully didn't enjoy it, too.

There was something about watching the world go to pot around you but knowing the person you loved was right beside you, their arms wrapped around you.

The using-her-lap-as-a-pillow-thing was new, though.

She decides she doesn't really mind it, as he leans the back of his head against her stomach.

The other thing about quarantine? A lot of the boundaries she'd had with Mulder had melted away. Making her wonder why they were there in the first place.

She runs her fingers through his hair, feeling him relax, and then sigh contentedly.

She uses her free hand to use the remote to switch on the TV, and she flips through the channels, feeling Mulder's breathing even out. 

It takes a few minutes, but she finally finds a movie that isn't about aliens or plagues or anything like that. 

Goodness knows, they've seen a lot of that recently. They didn't need anymore.

"What is this, _Steel Magnolias_?" He mumbles from her lap. 

She laughs, "Close, but no. It's _Pretty Woman_."

"A girl movie," he says, and she sits the remote down, running her fingers down the side of his neck, and across his shoulders.

She feels his breathing slow and deepen, and smiles to herself. 

She was right.

Mulder doesn't sleep usually, but quarantine was making it near impossible for him.

She looks down, trying to see his face, catches a glimpse of his closed eyes, and feels his steady, deep breathing. He's asleep. She'd thought he'd pass out if she turned on a movie and made him relax for five minutes, because he hadn't slept in days as far as she could remember.

But now she'd found the winning formula.

Boring girl movie + couch + her = Mulder actually sleeping. 

Even though he's asleep, she keeps playing with his hair, leaning her head back on the couch, stifling her own yawn. She'd spent so many hours up coaxing Mulder back to bed, staying up and watching hours of terrible sci-fi movies with him, and listening to his newest theories about the pandemic, she'd realized that she'd been sleeping as little as he had been.

She feels her own eyes start to shut, and she doesn't try and force herself to stay awake.

She's found her own sleep formula.

Mulder + couch + knowing he's relaxed = Scully actually sleeping.


	2. Quarantine Day...Sleep is for the Weak

"Mulder?"

Scully stumbles out into the living room, crossing her arms over her chest to try and keep in as much of the warmth she'd retained from being tucked under her sheets as possible.

Mulder is sitting on the couch, popcorn bowl on the couch next to him, and a couple beer bottles on the ground by his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, hey, Scully. Just watching a movie," he tells her, taking another sip of his beer.

She turns towards the TV, seeing the ever so familiar black and white figures darting across the screen, and then looks over at him, watching his mouth move along with the dialogue.

"Is that  _ Plan 9 From Outer Space _ again, Mulder?"

He guilty looks up at her, and shrugs. "Yeah, couldn't sleep."

She looks at the clock, realizing it's 2am.

"Mulder. Come back to bed," she tells him.

He shrugs, turning back to the TV. "Eh."

"At least tell me what's wrong," she says, taking a few steps towards him and sitting down next to him. She reaches into the popcorn bowl, and steals a few kernels, making a face when she tastes them. "Gross, butter."

"What's wrong is you not liking butter." He grabs a handful of kernels and stuffs them into his mouth.

"Mulder, it's 2am. I'm tired and not playing games." She gives him a look. "What's wrong?"

He stares straight ahead at the TV and then slowly says, "Have you ever been too sad to sleep, Scully?"

"Yeah. Sometimes," she admits, looking up into his face. 

"Yeah, well, that's what's wrong."

"So you decided to drown your sorrows in alcohol, popcorn, and bad sci-fi?" She asks.

"Yeah."

She reaches over, grabbing the remote off the coffee table, and switches off the TV.

"Hey!" He protests, as she lifts the remote over her head.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go back to bed."

"I don't want to keep you up," he admits.

"Well, I'm too cold to sleep anyway," she lies. "So, come on. Keep me warm and at least try and sleep."

He sighs, leaning back against the couch.

"What usually puts you to sleep?" She asks, but she already knows. 

He looks over at her, and she swears those green eyes look guilty.

"You," he admits. "Having you there beside me really helps."

She smiles softly at him. “Mulder. I’m asking you to come back to bed and hold me.”

Sometimes the direct method is the best.

She feels her cheeks redden when she asks, but really, it’s for him.

Well, not _all_ for him. It was chilly in her apartment tonight.

He looks over at her, and nods. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

She stands up, and motions to the beer bottles and popcorn. “Clean it up in the morning.”

He chuckles. “I’m surprised, Scully. Usually you’d have a fit about me leaving a mess.”

“I’m too tired,” she admits, and he shakes his head.

She pushes open the door to her bedroom, and crosses the room, climbing back under the blankets.

He climbs in beside her, wrapping his arm around her as she cuddles into his chest, pressing her cheek against him.

She puts her arm around his waist, and he rubs her back, leaning down to kiss the top of her forehead.

“Mulder, I know how much this sucks,” she whispers. “I want to go back to work, too. But at least you’re right here.”

He squeezes her tightly against him. “Scully, I need you beside me to know that everything is going to be okay,” he admits, and she feels him run his fingers down her back, giving her chills.

“I’m here,” she promises, shutting her eyes. “And everything is going to be okay.”


	3. Quarantine Day ... The Power of Love

“What’s for dinner?” Mulder asks, sliding into the kitchen.

_ Literally  _ sliding.

She glances down at his sock covered feet as he slams into the cabinets, miscalculating how fast he was actually going, pausing her pasta stirring.

“Mulder?” 

“ _ I’m _ for dinner? Wow, Scully, I know you’re into me-”

“Who said I was into you?” she asks, putting her hand on her hip, and raising her eyebrow. 

The terror that crosses his face is priceless, and she tries to hide her smile as his green eyes widen in horror and guilt.

Who knew it only took eight weeks locked together in an apartment before she’d admit that she was into him?

“Mulder. I’m kidding.”

“Oooooohhhhhhh,” he says, nervously laughing. “Right.”

She shakes her head, stirring the pot of pasta again. “Why are you sliding around my kitchen in socks?”

“Why not?” he questions, leaning on the counter beside her, and watching the water heat up. 

“Mulder. A watched pot never boils,” she tells him, as he continues to stare into the pot. “Besides, why were you sliding around my apartment in socks?”

“Why not?” he asks again, looking up at her. “It’s fun. You should try it.”

“I’m making dinner,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He straightens and holds out his hand. “C’mon, Sculls, dance with me.”

She gives him a look, and then motions back to the pasta. “Do you want to eat? Besides, there’s no music.”

“You’re right. Hang on.” He holds up his finger, and walks out of the kitchen, and she shakes her head.

Sometimes, she thinks she could end this whole quarantine if she just showed the mayor or the governor or whoever was making the decisions to reopen the way Mulder has been acting, they’d let them all of quarantine right now. 

They’d rule her being trapped inside with that crazy man more dangerous than the virus.

Of course the downside would be that then she’d have to share his attention and he’d lose some of his chaotic, anxiety driven energy and some of his new hobbies.

Like sliding around her apartment in his socks.

She’d love to go outside, and she’d love for Mulder to calm down, just a little bit, but she had to admit, she also loved this. This spontaneous, chaotic, just a little bit crazy version of him.

The unmistakable sound of 80s guitars and pop fill the apartment, and she hides her laugh, knowing he took her suggestion to heart.

She glances down at her feet, making sure she’s not wearing shoes. 

“What up, homegirl,” She feels him behind her in an instant, as his arms wrap around her waist from behind. She feels his breath on her cheek as he murmurs, “wanna dance?”

She twists in his arms, glancing over her shoulder at him, and raising her eyebrow. “Homegirl?”

“I was feeling the music.”

She listens for a second, and then looks back at him. “This is _The_ _Power of Love_. How does homegirl fit that song?”

“I don’t know, but do you feel the power of love, _homegirl_?”

She rolls her eyes, but secretly, she’s loving his cheesiness. 

“Mulder. I’m trying to make dinner.”

“C’mon. Dance,” he coaxes, letting her go, and stepping to the side of her, pulling himself onto the counter. “You don’t need a credit card to ride this train.”

She makes a face, throwing the towel she has by the stove at his face. “Shut up, Mulder.”

“I’m not going to stop until you dance with me. You have to try sock sliding at least once. That’s why you have hardwood floors.”

She holds out her hand reluctantly towards him, and he slides off the counter before taking it. 

She’s always loved this song.

He grabs her hand and spins her around into him, wrapping an arm around her waist, and grabbing her other hand. 

“I thought you were running around and sliding like a child,” she teases, as he pulls her a little closer.

“Or we could slow dance.”

“This is not a slow dancing song,” she points out. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a buzzkill, Scully?” He lets her go, and before she can protest, takes a few running steps, sliding across the kitchen floor, running into the pantry door.

Scully can’t help but laugh, and shakes her head. “Mulder, you’re nuts.”

“C’mon, try it.”

“I’m going to run into the pantry door just like you did.”

“I’ll catch you. What are you scared of?”

She rolls her eyes, and half of her, the logical side of her brain, was telling her that this was ridiculous and unprofessional and not something anyone should do with their co-worker. 

But she hadn’t been making it a habit to listen to that side of her brain in quarantine, anyway.

_Besides_ , she thought, _Mulder wasn’t exactly just a co-worker anymore, was he?_

Somehow, someway, he’d gotten upgraded to boyfriend.

She didn’t even know when or how since they’d never discussed it, but he was.

She knew it, deep inside. 

And somehow, sliding around in socks on your kitchen floor with your boyfriend as Huey Lewis and the News reminds you that with the power of love on your side, you don’t need credit cards or fame, and that love is sudden and strong, feels perfectly natural.

“Fine, but Mulder, you better catch me,” she says, taking a few running steps, and sliding across the floor.

She really isn’t going that fast, after all, it is just cotton on linoleum, but she slides into his chest anyway, and she suspects he stepped in just so she’d do that.

“Well?”

“Maybe I’ll suggest it to Skinner when we finally can go back to work. Everyone in the building can slide around instead of walking.”

She feels his arms settle around her, and she smiles, patting his chest.

“Let me go. I have to check the pasta.”

He lets her go, and she walks back over to the stove, dipping out a few noodles, and setting them on the counter to cool. 

“Hey, Mulder?” she says, turning around and holding out her hand.

“Mmmhmm?” he says, looking up at her.

“Dance with me.”

He grabs her hand, spinning her again, and she smiles, as he pulls her against his chest again. 

She laughs when he dips her, giving her a wink and when he pulls her back up, telling her, “that’s the power of love, girl.”

She rolls her eyes, and leans her head on his chest, feeling his arms around her. She starts to shut her eyes contentedly against him, but as they sway, she catches a glimpse of the living room TV, still on, but muted, as the news headline flashes onto the screen.

The officials would be deciding in a couple days if things could start to reopen, and the idea of some sort of silver of normalcy being so tantalizingly close and yet so unsure and scary was doing a number on everyone’s anxiety and she knew if this little bit of hope was snatched away again, Mulder would fall apart.

No, that was a lie.

They’d both fall apart.

She could lie to herself all she wanted that she was “well adjusted” and “doing just fine” in quarantine, but was anyone really doing  _ fine _ ?

Her heart ached for her life back, too, and hearing another reopening date be pushed back again, even if it was the right thing to do, would smash the tiny glimmer of hope she’d be hanging onto for weeks.

“I forgot for a second,” she says suddenly, eyes still on the TV.

“About?” he asks, and then follows her eyes to the TV, and then stops. “Oh, yeah. Me, too.”

For a blissful, wonderful, peaceful five minutes, the world falling apart had seemed so far away.

Held off by the power of love.

She’d thought that she’d been taking care of Mulder in the quarantine, but she feels him tighten his grip on her, and she knows it’s both ways.

Keeping an entire pandemic at bay thanks to the other person.

_ That _ , she thinks,  _ is truly the power of love.  _


	4. Quarantine Day...huh, What's New Pussycat? is a lot longer than I thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I usually try and keep my fanfics vaguely 90s but for this one I wanted them to watch some John Mulaney skits together, because honestly, John Mulaney is one of the few things keeping me sane in quarantine. I started rewatching his specials to help me to fall asleep at night, so I thought it would be funny if Mulder started doing the same thing. Besides.....everyone loves John Mulaney. ;)

“Hey, Scully!” Mulder pokes his head into the bedroom.

“Yes?” she looks up from her book, as Mulder flops down on the bed next to her. 

She raises an eyebrow, as he reaches over, grabbing the blanket she’s laying under and spreading it over himself.

“Watch this.”

He hands her his phone, and she feels him move over, until his head is on the pillow she’s leaning on, and his legs are pressed against hers.

She holds the phone up with one hand, and he reaches over and presses play.

“I wanna tell you one story...this was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”

She looks over at Mulder, confused. “What?”

“Just listen,” he tells her, and puts his arm over her so she’s trapped next to him. “It’s a comedy skit.”

She watches his face as he mouths the words along with the comedian, and he’s barely suppressing his laughter as he, in perfect synch goes, “and the fourth play fades out...and it’s dead quiet….and then, I don’t know if you know this, but the song begins very subtly…WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT!”

She jumps when he shouts, and he laughs. 

“Mulder, shhhhhh, it’s 12am. Besides, I can’t hear.”

“You’ve seriously never heard this before?”

“It sounds familiar, but I don’t think so, why?”

“I’ve seen this no less than 100 times.”

“That’s just sad,” she tells him. 

“See, the thing is, it turns off my brain because I’ve seen it so many times. I don’t have to think.”

She looks down at him, and shakes her head slightly. “Is that what I hear at night? Because I swear I can hear all this laughter next to me sometimes. I just thought you were making fun of me.”

“It helps me sleep,” he admits. “Besides, I only make fun of you when you’re awake.”

She shakes her head, and puts her arm behind him, and he moves closer to her, putting his head on her stomach.

She smooths his hair down, and has to admit, this was funny.

Even if Mulder lip syncing through it was ruining it.

“Okay, that was funny,” she admits. 

“Then you’ve got to hear the next one.”

He presses the next one, and she reaches over and pauses it. “As long as you promise not to talk the entire time.”

“Fine, fine!”

“ Drugs like that are tricky sometimes, but I talked to a friend of mine and he said oh yeah, I did this. He said that he had a regular doctor's appointment and at the end of it he said to his doctor, ‘Hey doctor, sometimes I get nervous on airplanes.’ And the doctor just wrote him a Xanax prescription,” the comedian on Mulder’s phone says, and she feels Mulder trying not to laugh, clearly knowing exactly where this is heading.

“You can’t do that!” Scully protests. “Xanax is a serious drug, and in the wrong hands-”

“Scully, shhhhh. You’ll see.”

She sighs, turning back to the skit on the phone.

“And I wanna pick something that will get me out really quickly. And I look down and I see frequent urination. And I was like, perfect that'll be a super quick visit you know? I'll just be like, ‘Hey, sometimes I pee a lot,’ and the doctor would be like, ‘Me too, crazy right?’ And I'll be like, ‘I get nervous on airplanes’,” the comedian continues.

“Frequent urination isn’t a quick visit. Usually it involves a prostate exam. At least, that’s what I’d do.”

Mulder turns slightly to look up at her. “Scully, stop ruining this!”

“Is that what happens? See, that’s what happens when you lie to your doctor,” she protests. “But prostate health is important, so it probably-”

“Scully, shush. You have to wait to hear what happens!”

“So I said 11. That was too many times to say. The doctor looked at me and said, ‘You're peeing 11 time a day? Then you may have something wrong with your prostate. So, what we need to do…’” the comedian continues.

“11?! That  _ is _ extremely concerning,” Scully comments.

“Some of you are ahead of me,” the comedian says, and Mulder gives her a look. 

“Some of us were extremely ahead of you,” he mutters.

She shakes her head. “That’s what you get for watching this with a doctor.”

Scully had to admit though, the story was funny.

She can’t stop laughing the second “I’M SORRRRRRRRRRRRRRY” echos from the phone, and laughs even harder when the man says he fainted from the blood test.

“See?” Mulder looks back at her. “Told you this was good.”

“Play another one,” she says, sliding down farther under the blanket.

Mulder sits up, moving over so she can lay down beside him. 

Scully lays her head on his chest, and he wraps his arm around her, kissing the top of her head, before pressing play on the next skit.

For once, he manages to control reciting every line, and lets Scully experience it for the first time, but at some point she stops laughing and her breathing evens out.

She’s asleep.

He smiles down at her, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. 

“Now you know why I’ve seen it over a hundred times,” he teases, but she’s asleep.

He’s seen every skit, heard every joke a thousand times, but somehow, that just makes it better.

At least it’s just as distracting.

At least for an hour and four minutes, he can live in a world where Scully’s asleep on his chest and the biggest problem in the world is hearing  _ What’s New Pussycat?  _ twenty-one times in a row.

That’s where he’s going to take Scully the day the hell they call quarantine is over.

And he’s going to play  _ What’s New Pussycat?  _ that many times and it will truly be the greatest meal he’s ever had.


End file.
